It was nearly midnight when Richard Wentworth's town car swooped, slowed and stilled itself before the huge Fifth Avenue apartment house in which Mortimer Mack had his residence. The immense building was New York's latest word in residential luxury. Rentals were staggering and were not even mentioned publicly. Door men were gazed at in awe by people from the tops of passing busses. The place was considered to be a trifle vulgar by members of New York's old society regime but many of them, impoverished by changing conditions, would have been glad to live there.
Wentworth, assisting Nita to alight from his car, was pushed by a newsboy, shouting a late extra.
"All about th' Spider murder!" the boy shouted. New clue found! Arrest soon!"
Nita heard the newsboy and stumbled a little in getting out of the car. In all the world she was the only person who knew about the Spider. She alone possessed Wentworth's secret.
Her hand trembled on his arm as they left the car. Dick Wentworth was in great danger if the newspaper report were true.
But Wentworth showed no sign of alarm and did not even appear to hear the newsboy. He escorted Nita through the ornate doors and across the gorgeous hall as unconcernedly as if he had been strolling with her along some country lane. They were a very attractive couple, and even the hall men turned their eyes a trifle while they stood stiffly at their stations.
"Jolly little place!" remarked Wentworth jocularly. Then, more seriously: "But don't forget that murder and sudden death can occur in such a place."
Mortimer Mack's apartment proved to be duplex. From a spacious hall a broad, curved stairway led to the second floor. The hall was really very large, but seemed even larger than it actually was because the walls were completely paneled with mirrors. In addition to the stairway there was an automatic elevator for those who might be infirm or, perhaps, a bit drunk. In every way the apartment gave the appearance of a house, as in truth it was— a very large house, with many rooms— constructed within the apartment building.
Wentworth had given his name upon entering. He noticed that the servant paid particular attention to it and immediately sent another servant upon some errand. Evidently somebody was being notified of his arrival, perhaps the owner of the establishment himself.
And such proved to be the case. Wentworth had returned from the men's coat room and was waiting for Nita in the mirror-lined hall when she was approached by a small man with beetling eyebrows and iron-gray hair, a man with a soft voice and cold, shrewd eyes.
"Mr. Wentworth, I am Mortimer Mack," the man said softly. "Mr. Morris said you were coming, and I'm so glad you could do so. I met you once at a polo game several years ago, but I'm afraid you have forgotten me."
"Glad to be here," returned Wentworth briefly. "Ned Morris here?"
"He is upstairs somewhere," Mortimer Mack replied. "I would like to have a talk with you later. In the meantime, won't you make yourself perfectly at home?"
The soft voice ceased and the man seemed to drift away and disappear with a certain, curious ease which was heightened by his reflections in the many mirrors. His disappearance was really quite simple. He entered the automatic elevator and abruptly cut himself off from sight by closing its mirror-covered door. Although his manner had been quite normal there was, nevertheless, a strange atmosphere of cold cruelty about him. He gave the feeling that he would quietly go to any extreme to achieve his own objectives.
Nita joined Wentworth a moment later. Together they ascended the stairs and were attracted to a large ballroom where an orchestra was dispensing music for those who wanted to dance. At her suggestion they drifted out upon the floor and danced while they studied the people about them.
As they danced, Wentworth recognized a prominent politician who was dancing, and not any too well, with an extremely beautiful woman who wore a dress of emerald green, cut so daringly as to cause many of the men to annoy their partners by turning their heads in her direction. It was common knowledge that this man had a very quiet little wife and several children. Wentworth wondered what the quiet wife thought about the lady in emerald green.
There might be other politicians present. Wentworth would be unable to recognize most of them and none of them did he know personally. There were several very daring women on the floor, dancing with men he knew nothing about. Wentworth wondered about it and wondered, too, why he had not yet seen his friend, Ned Morris.
Neither could Wentworth understand why Ned Morris had advised him to bring his check book. The guests were busy in the refreshment rooms, upon the dance floor and at bridge in some card rooms. But the bridge seemed to be quite ordinary and nothing that would require any special hint regarding the bringing of a check book. Wentworth was beginning to think that the entertainment was quite tame when Nita gave him a surprise.
"Poor old Jerry Stone!" she exclaimed. "His partner got rid of him, just as I overheard her saying she would do in the dressing room."
"Jerry Stone!" exclaimed Wentworth. "Where is he?"
"Leaning against the pillar at the entrance to the ballroom and looking very bored and ill at ease," she answered.
Wentworth stopped dancing and walked around the edge of the ballroom with Nita toward the young man she had indicated. Jerry Stone was the name of the young man mentioned by poor little Molly during the exciting moments of the fire ruse— the young man who had been an assistant bookkeeper for the Mack Syndicate under her father.
Was it possible that this was that man? If so, it was strong evidence that something was not right in the Mack organization. Presidents of great companies do not invite assistant bookkeepers into their homes; and most certainly Mortimer Mack did not seem to be the kind of a man who would do such a thing unless there were some very special reason for it.
As they approached the young man it became quite plain that Nita was right in saying that he was ill at ease.
"A little warm to dance, don't you think?" commented Wentworth to the obviously uncomfortable young man, halting beside him with Nita. "My name is Wentworth. Didn't I meet you in Monte Carlo last year?"
The young man, even if ill at ease, was distinctly flattered by being addressed by so distinguished a man as Wentworth. He had never been outside of America, but the suggestion that he had been a visitor at such a place as Monte Carlo flattered him still more. He gave his name as Stone, but confessed that he had not been in Monte Carlo last year.
"Some other place, then," returned Wentworth carelessly. "I know I met you somewhere. Perhaps it was London. By the way, old man, who is the lady in emerald green, the one with the corking figure who is dancing with the fellow who can't dance?"
"Oh, ah, that's Cora," Stone replied, confused and embarrassed.
"Know 'em by their first names, eh?" Wentworth smiled understandingly. He looked at Nita, and she understood.
"Dance?" she said. "My partner is tired." Jerry Stone blushed and hesitated, as Nita moved toward him. Then he danced away with her and Wentworth smiled ever so slightly, knowing that a clever woman can get much more information out of a man than can be obtained by another man.
Wentworth decided that in the meantime he would return to the bottom floor of the duplex apartment for a sandwich, a glass of champagne and a look around. Two men, quite able bodied and sober, entered the automatic elevator as he came to the head of the curving stairway. He descended the stairs quite rapidly, but found that the elevator had beaten him. Either that or the car had not come down to this floor. He knew that automatic elevators are not noted for their speed, and the thing puzzled him. He was also puzzled about the whereabouts of his friend, Ned Morris. It was very strange that he had not yet caught a glimpse of him.
After a hurried glass of wine and a sandwich Wentworth went over to the automatic elevator and pressed the call button. Nobody paid any attention to him and very shortly the door opened and exposed the empty car. He entered and closed the door behind him. There were only two buttons to be pressed, one for the first floor and one for the second floor, which was what he expected.
As he was about to press the second button, with the intention of returning to the ballroom where Nita was dancing, the car started unexpectedly without his causing it to do so. Then Wentworth realized that there was more to the Mortimer Mack establishment than he had guessed. The car had started forward! Somebody had called it before he had time to press the button and the car was now bound for a floor for which there was no visible button in the car.
There was a stop button which Wentworth could have used, after which he could have sent the car up again. But it was not in his character to draw back or to hesitate when adventure beckoned. He had no idea how far down the car would go, or what he would find when it stopped. But he would go there and he would find what there was to be found.
He did not have long to wait. Very quickly the elevator stopped at what was, undoubtedly, one floor below the duplex apartment of Mortimer Mack. Or was it really a triplex apartment or even a quadplex apartment? Wentworth had no time to consider such possibilities before the door of the elevator opened.
Before him stood the woman called Cora, she of the emerald green gown which was cut so daringly and which fitted so snugly. And behind Cora was Dan Grogan!